


Think of a New Life

by catie_writes_things



Category: The Crown (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Family, gratuitous references to the opus of Andrew Lloyd Webber
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28316631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catie_writes_things/pseuds/catie_writes_things
Summary: Christmas 1988 - Anne and Edward are hiding from the rest of the family, Andrew's had a little too much to drink, Diana is pregnant, and Charles bears the burden on all counts, somehow.An interlude toThe Real Soulmatebyizzythehutt.
Relationships: Charles Prince of Wales/Diana of Wales (1961 - 1997), Windsor Siblings
Comments: 6
Kudos: 70





	Think of a New Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [izzythehutt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzythehutt/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Real Soulmate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28309866) by [izzythehutt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzythehutt/pseuds/izzythehutt). 



_ In Which the Prince of Wales is the Subject of Gossip _

It’s Christmastime and Anne is hiding in one of the unused bedrooms at Sandringham, playing chess with Edward. Neither of them is much good at it, but neither of them feels much up to socializing with the rest of the family, either. Anne has had about enough of the Princess of Wales, who is positively glowing with her unexpected expectancy, the latest twist in the melodrama of the Wales marriage that keeps everyone so enthralled. Edward has had about enough of everyone - it’s not easy, after all, being the runt of the litter, the family joke, and though he usually plays it off with good humor, Anne knows even her youngest brother has his limit of being teased.

Edward has just moved his bishop cautiously away from her knight when the door bangs open and Andrew bursts into the room, spoiling their solitude.

_ “There _ you two are,” Andrew says merrily, though Anne suspects it’s the wine glass in his hand more than any seasonal cheer that has him in such high spirits. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

“Well come in and shut the door, before anyone else finds us,” Anne replies without taking her eyes off the chessboard.

Andrew does as he’s told, though Edward winces at how loudly the door slams shut behind him. “I’ve just heard the most scandalous bit of gossip,” he announces proudly, and Anne rolls her eyes. Andrew can be as bad as Aunt Margot, especially when he’s drunk.

“We all know about the actor cousin Sarah’s seeing,” Edward says by way of trying to take the wind out of their brother’s sails. Somehow he never quite manages it as well with Andrew as he can with Charles - but perhaps Charles is merely an easier target.

Andrew, as usual, is undeterred. “No, not that,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand, then saunters over and leans heavily on Edward’s shoulder. Edward sags dramatically under the weight. “You’ll want to watch out for that castle of hers,” Andrew adds conspiratorially, pointing with the hand still holding his wine glass.

“Don’t help him,” Anne scolds. Andrew winks at her as he stands up straight again.

“Well, don’t you want to know what I’ve heard?” he prompts, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement.

“I’ve a feeling you’ll tell us either way,” Edward replies, straightening his jacket and considering his next move.

Andrew grins even wider. “You’ll never guess whose bed the Prince of Wales has been found in this time.”

“You’re right,” Anne agrees. “I won’t guess.” She won’t give Andrew the satisfaction, for one thing. For another, she knows that if Andrew’s source on this gossip is in any way reliable, she’ll hear it herself from Aunt Margot soon enough - though she rather doubts that it is, given how full Charles already has his hands between Camilla and Diana. She can’t see her elder brother looking to turn that delicate balancing act into a juggling routine.

Edward, for his part, looks intrigued, though he’s trying to hide it. Charles has always been something of an idol to him - not to say a hero, but certainly fascinating in everything he does, no matter how petty. It worries Mummy, that her youngest doesn’t have a better example to look up to in his eldest brother.

Andrew, who has never worried about setting or following good example, wags his eyebrows suggestively and leans in closer to both of them. “It was his wife’s.”

“Now why is that so scandalous?” Anne says without missing a beat, but it’s mostly covering her own surprise. Another turn in the melodrama, and even she is being dragged into it in spite of herself. “He got Diana pregnant with your latest replacement somehow.”

“Do you need someone to draw a diagram for you?” Edward chimes in helpfully, finally making his move - putting his knight out of range of her castle and spoiling all her plans.

“Oh, don’t play so innocent,” Andrew says, giving Edward a good shove on the side of his head. “We all know what a rare event that is.”

“True,” Edward concedes, swatting Andrew’s hand away as Anne captures another of his pawns. “I wonder what did the trick this time.” He pauses, tapping his chin as if deep in thought.  _ “Evita,  _ do you think?”

_ “Starlight Express,” _ Anne shoots back, deadpan.

Andrew is already shaking with laughter when Edward suddenly moves his bishop again, this time taking the castle Andrew had warned him about in a move that Anne had not anticipated. “I’ll bet,” her youngest brother says with a cheeky grin, “it was  _ Cats.” _

Anne has a sudden mental image of Diana with whiskers painted on her face, her blonde hair tufted to look like cat ears, and that finally gets her to crack a smile. She looks ridiculous.

“I’ll bet it was,” she agrees, then swats Andrew on the arm. “Why don’t you go ask him?”

Andrew composes himself somewhat - enough to get the words out, but not much more. “You know, I think I shall,” he says through his laughter. “Would serve him right. He’s been positively beastly to me all evening.”

Anne doesn’t doubt that, but she also doesn’t doubt that Andrew has done everything he can to provoke Charles. She moves her castle closer to Edward’s queen without comment.

Edward, however, can’t resist poking at Andrew in his self-pity. “What could he do to a brave war hero like you?” he intones sarcastically.

Andrew, already headed for the door, turns and glares at him. “Watch yourself,” he says, pointing with his wine glass again. “Or I’ll tell Papa where you’re hiding.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Anne replies with confidence. Papa, at least, will always take her side, and her brothers all know it.

But Andrew, whether from the wine or the anticipation of his latest ammunition against Charles or even general Christmas gaiety, is in good cheer, and only laughs again as he lets himself out of the room.

“Do you think it’s true?” Edward asks, almost as soon as the door is shut behind him.

Anne shrugs. “Stranger things have happened.” Charles and Diana have had their ups and downs before - more of the latter, usually, but a détente is not unheard of in their marriage. If Diana’s third pregnancy has brought about a real sea change or merely the latest calm in the storm, only time will tell.

Edward suddenly grins in triumph and moves his bishop once more. “Check mate,” he declares.

Anne stares at the chessboard in shock for a moment, but as far as she can tell her brother is correct. She swears under her breath, which only makes Edward’s grin wider. “Well played,” she admits grudgingly, setting the pieces up for another match. She hadn’t seen that coming at all.

This Christmas is just full of surprises.

* * *

  
  


_ In Which the Duke of York Asks the Important Questions _

As Andrew makes his way back to the sitting room where the rest of the family is gathered, he meets Papa on the stairs, and gallantly dodges his question about where his sister has got to with a smile and a shrug. Poor Edward, Andrew thinks, doesn’t get asked after. But let him continue hiding with Anne - it’s not the younger brother that Andrew has his sights on now, but the elder.

The rest of the family is still gathered in the sitting room - the children playing with their newly opened presents, Mummy chatting with Aunt Margot, and his own wife sitting with the visibly pregnant Princess of Wales. The two of them are always chummy, and when Sarah glances in his direction and gives him a smile across the room, Diana does the same.

Andrew returns both smiles and offers them a salute with his wine glass, then makes a beeline for where Charles is stationed by the tree, conversing with Granny of all people.

It can’t have been a very stimulating conversation because Charles actually looks relieved when Andrew cuts in - though he must be able to see something of Andrew’s intentions in his face, for his relief is clearly short-lived. After a few pleasantries, Granny leaves them to go speak with cousin David instead, and Charles’s look immediately turns cross and suspicious.

“What do you want?” he asks bluntly.

“Tell me,” Andrew says, clapping his brother on the shoulder with his free hand. “How are you enjoying the publicity campaign Mummy’s got you on?”

“It’s ghastly, of course,” Charles replies, shoving his hands in his pockets and scowling at the floor, the picture of a sulking schoolboy. He has never enjoyed engagements of the smile-and-wave variety, even less so when his wife is involved, for she does it so much better than him. Jealousy, Andrew thinks, always was his brother’s least becoming feature.

“Ah, chin up, soldier,” he says, giving Charles a little shake, which makes his brother shrug off his hand in irritation. “Your days may be bleak,” Andrew goes on, undeterred, leaning in close, “but I have it on good authority that your nights at Kensington Palace have gotten warmer.”

Charles looks up at him in alarm as Andrew downs the last of his wine. “Who told you about that?”

Andrew grins at his brother’s inadvertent confirmation of the gossip. “You know how servants  _ do _ talk,” he says, setting his now empty glass aside on an end table. “Anyway, Anne and Edward and I have a little bet going–” Charles rolls his eyes at this, and admittedly it is a slight exaggeration, no stakes have been wagered, but Andrew presses on, “–on which Lloyd Webber masterpiece was responsible this time.”

Charles does not immediately respond, just stares at him, stone-faced except for a flash of anger in his eyes that tells Andrew he’s scored a hit where his brother is most sensitive - his pride. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” Charles lies through gritted teeth.

“Oh, don’t play coy,” Andrew says, nudging his elder brother with his elbow. “Was it  _ Cats?” _

The Prince of Wales glares in a way that suggests he is contemplating the relative risks and benefits of fratricide. But he holds himself together enough to look down his nose at Andrew. “You really imagine,” he says in his most supercilious, I-am-the-firstborn-so-God-loves-me-best voice, “that everyone is as vulgar and perverse as you.”

Andrew laughs at this display, unperturbed by the insult. He’s been called worse. “Well, I don’t know if you’ve started considering names yet,” he forges on, heedless of any danger. “But you could easily go with Victoria and Mummy would be none the wiser.”

Here at last Andrew sees he has made a misstep - not because Charles reacts with any greater anger, but because he furrows his brows and stares in clearly unaffected confusion. “None the wiser about what?” he asks, and belatedly Andrew realizes that he’s gotten too carried away with his own joke, and of course his uptight, snobbish older brother doesn’t actually know the names of the characters from  _ Cats. _

“That wasn’t it, then,” he says, trying to recover. He wracks his brain to come up with another show title to needle Charles with - what were the ones Edward and Anne had mentioned? But alas, perhaps he’s had one too many glasses of wine, because he draws a blank, and anyway, the likelihood of Charles being any more familiar with them seems slim. Floundering, Andrew mutters an oath, then lets out with, “What on earth  _ is _ going on with you two, anyway?”

It’s the question everyone really wants to ask, because mere months ago Charles and Diana couldn’t stand the sight of each other, as far as anyone in the family knew. Then suddenly there was the pregnancy, which as Anne had astutely pointed out, Charles had to be responsible for somehow, because he certainly wouldn’t have run through the gauntlet of public engagements Mummy had arranged for him otherwise. And now there is this latest bit of news from the servants which Charles hasn’t even bothered to deny.

“Nothing is ‘going on’,” Charles says defensively, and a bit too quickly. “And I’ll have you know–”

But whatever Charles would have him know, Andrew never finds out, for a gentle voice cuts him off.

It’s Diana herself who interrupts their conversation. “Charles,” she says simply, with no term of endearment appended. “I’m bringing the boys up to bed.” She’s got William and Harry each by the hand, the small baby bump completing the picture of idealized maternity she presents, and though neither of the boys looks particularly tired, neither is fighting her. They’re both looking up at their father expectantly.

Andrew knows, because his own wife has told him, that Diana always puts the boys to bed herself. It is a constant, an eternal truth that can be relied upon - one of a precious few in the Wales household.

“I’ll be up in a minute,” Charles replies after only a brief hesitation, smiling down at both boys. Diana seems pleased with this, and after Andrew bids both his nephews a good night, she leads them upstairs. Andrew is not too drunk to notice that for all he was unable to look his wife in the eye a moment ago, his brother’s gaze remains fixed on her retreating figure until she and the boys are out of sight.

Andrew lets out a low whistle, and Charles looks back at him, once again in confusion.

“What is it now?” his brother asks impatiently.

“Oh, nothing,” Andrew replies with feigned indifference. He casts a cursory look about him, trying to remember what he’s done with his wine glass, then gives up with a shrug and decides he can get a fresh one. “I think I could do with another drink.”

“I think you’ve had rather enough,” Charles replies with evident disapproval, which only makes Andrew grin again. He claps a hand on his brother’s back, perhaps with more force than he intended, for Charles actually starts at the impact.

“Go play the dutiful husband and father,” he says, giving Charles a little push towards the stairs. He might have said it too loudly, for now Mummy is looking at them. Andrew wonders how much  _ she _ knows about the goings on at Kensington Palace - she certainly has her own spies, Aunt Margot and Anne chief among them, so if she hasn’t heard yet she soon will. But the Queen will never discuss family gossip with him.

Charles gives Andrew one last searching look, but clearly decides against saying anything more with a shake of his head, and then follows his wife upstairs. He takes the steps in a rather sprightly manner for a man now in his forties, Andrew thinks, and wishes he could say as much to his brother.

“Nothing going on, indeed,” he mutters to himself.

* * *

  
  


_ In Which the Princess of Wales Provides Some Answers _

Diana hasn’t even gotten Harry into his pajamas yet by the time Charles joins them upstairs, earlier than she had expected. William, of course, had obediently gotten himself changed as soon as his pajamas had been handed to him, but Harry had decided, once he was out of his clothes, that he wanted to pretend to be a monkey. He is at present still jumping and tumbling around the room in his underwear while his mother chases him with his pajama shirt. William, sitting on his bed, is laughing at his little brother’s antics, which only encourages him.

“Harry,” Charles says firmly from the doorway, though Diana can hear the fondness in his voice, too. “Stop giving Mummy trouble.”

Harry abruptly comes to a halt, smiling innocently up at his father. “I’m never any trouble at all, Daddy!” he exclaims earnestly as Diana hastily stuffs him into his pajama shirt.

Charles laughs at this blatantly untrue pronouncement, but now that he is here, Harry does settle down. Diana gets him fully clothed, and both boys are tucked into bed and read a story and kissed goodnight by both parents in due course.

They leave the room. Charles leaves the door ajar to let in some of the light, because Harry can’t get to sleep in the total darkness, so they have to get a ways down the corridor before they say anything, lest they disturb the boys. Diana isn’t really expecting them to say anything at all. They often don’t, sometimes because they both feel saying nothing is better than arguing, sometimes because there simply is nothing left for them to say to each other. Tonight of all nights, she certainly isn’t going to risk it, much as she wishes she were insightful enough, clever enough to come up with just the right words to make everything better.

Things  _ are _ better, she reminds herself, one hand reflexively resting on her stomach. Better than they were a year ago, better than six months ago, even. Objectively she knows this, but it doesn’t always feel that way, and even when it does she can’t pretend that means everything is alright now.

To her surprise, Charles catches her other hand just before they turn the corner to the landing at the top of the stairs. “Diana,” he begins, though he falters when she turns to look at him, looking down at her hand instead of meeting her eyes. “I was...that is, before we go back downstairs, I wanted to ask you something.”

Diana’s heart skips a beat. “Alright,” she says, trying to sound calm as her mind races, wondering what he could possibly want to ask her about.

“Have you...spoken to the Duchess of York about names?” Charles asks hesitantly, then gestures at her stomach with his free hand. “For the, uh…”

“Names for the baby?” Diana fills in for him, pointedly. It rankles, how he can’t say it. Part of him, she thinks in her most vulnerable moments, still wishes this child had never been conceived. How much easier that would have been, for him. He could have gone on hating her in peace.

“Yes,” Charles confirms, glancing up at her, embarrassed. Her anger abates, a little.

“Not really,” she answers with a half-shrug. “Sarah did warn me we should be certain we have the Queen’s approval before we get our hearts set on a name.” Charles gives a short chuckle at this, for it is well known in the family that Beatrice had not been Andrew and Sarah’s first choice. “But,” Diana goes on, unable to help herself, “I don’t think that is an issue for you and I at present, seeing as  _ we’ve _ barely discussed names for the baby at all.”

“Right,” Charles replies with a grimace, and Diana finds no satisfaction in this sign of his guilt. She’s seen it all before, the grimaces, the nervous twitches, the way he won’t look her in the eye. He’s never felt badly enough about himself to change his behavior, has he? Not unless the Queen held his feet to the fire.

“Well,” Charles goes on, “Andrew seemed to have some idea…” He trails off, seems to consider for a moment, then shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

“What is it?” Diana presses, squeezing his hand. She can’t bear it when he shuts her out like this, and it’s all the more infuriating when she knows that likely as not he’ll resent her for not being able to guess what he’s thinking. “Tell me,” she pleads.

“What do you know about cats?” Charles says unexpectedly.

Diana blinks in surprise, and confusion. “Names for cats?” she asks, trying desperately to connect the dots of this conversation. Had Andrew suggested they get a pet?

“No, no,” Charles replies in exasperation, running a hand awkwardly through his hair, and Diana tenses. “Not actual cats. The, uh…” He makes another vague gesture, circling his hand rapidly, like he expects her to pick up his train of thought. Whatever he’s trying to say, he’s having even more difficulty mentioning it than he does with the baby, but this time Diana can’t fill in the blank for him.

“The  _ musical,” _ Charles says at last, like the word is something distasteful. But at least now he is looking at her.

Diana waits a moment, then two. No further explanation is forthcoming from her husband. But Charles has never shown any appreciation for musical theater before - with one notable exception that they have not spoken of since, even as its consequences have come to dominate their lives these past few months.

“Oh,” Diana says softly, thinking she has finally put the pieces together. “Was Andrew making fun of you again?” She hadn’t missed the way they had all teased him at his birthday party - the music hadn’t exactly been subtle, after all - and her face burns again now at the thought that what had been meant to be a private anniversary present had become so widely known in the family, and that everyone knew what had followed from it.

“Andrew never stops,” Charles replies sourly. “Am I correct in assuming there is a character in this...feline spectacle by the name of Victoria?”

Diana smiles at the way he avoids having to say the dreaded word  _ musical _ \- or worse, mention the name of the show - a second time. “There is,” she confirms. “A pretty little ingenue of a kitten. Is  _ that _ the name Andrew suggested?”

Charles smiles, too, just a little. “He proposed that we could pull one over on Mummy that way.”

Diana stifles a giggle. “Well I don’t fancy our daughter’s name being part of Andrew’s petty revenge scheme against your mother,” she points out sensibly. Then, feeling bold, she wrinkles her nose in distaste and adds, “And I know Victoria is a rather significant royal name, but I’ve never cared for it.”

“We’re in agreement then,” Charles says, and Diana’s heart swells at those words. “Not Victoria.”

She is about to say that Not Victoria won’t do for a name for long - a joke she feels is rather clever, for her, and just hopes Charles might laugh at - when suddenly they are no longer alone. The Duke of Edinburgh comes round the corner in the corridor, with Anne by his side and Edward trailing behind them. Diana recalls her father-in-law having gone upstairs some time ago to look for his wayward children. Now all three of them come to an abrupt halt at the other end of the corridor.

“Ah,” the Duke of Edinburgh says, “I hope we aren’t interrupting.” Diana realizes Charles has been holding her hand this whole time the moment he hastily lets it go.

“Not at all,” Charles says smoothly. Diana bites her tongue.

“Then we should all return to the party,” the Duke of Edinburgh says, giving Charles a pointed look.

There’s no arguing with him, and the five of them make their way downstairs - Charles taking the lead, Anne and Edward pushing ahead to talk to their brother - not teasing him, as Andrew had done, for Charles laughs along with them, in on their jokes this time. The Duke of Edinburgh offers Diana his arm, which she accepts, trying to be grateful.

“The boys are in bed by now, I take it,” her father-in-law says. Diana confirms that they are, with a hint of apology, for she knows he would have liked to say goodnight to his grandsons. “That’s alright,” he says, patting her hand. “Another time, then.”

As they reach the bottom of the stairs, Diana glances at her husband, now ushering his brother and sister back into the sitting room ahead of him. He glances back at her, too, just for a moment, before ducking his eyes again and following them in.

“Right,” Diana agrees. “Another time.” They will have to decide on their daughter’s name in earnest at some point. Of course, the timing of her joke will be all wrong by then, and who knows what sort of mood Charles will be in - what sort of mood either of them will be in, if she's being honest.

The Duke of Edinburgh holds her back before they rejoin the rest of the family as well. “It is good to see you and Charles getting on better,” he says, surprisingly earnest, and Diana finds herself blinking back tears. At least she can blame it on being pregnant.

“Is it?” she replies airily.

“Yes, it is,” her father-in-law reiterates. “I always knew Charles would come to his senses eventually.”

Diana thinks this is a rather optimistic appraisal of their situation, but of course she can’t say that. It’s Christmas, and no one wants her to spoil the holiday atmosphere with her woes, and anyway, she reminds herself again, things  _ are _ going better than they were. For now.

  
So instead she smiles prettily and lets her father-in-law have his illusions. But when they enter the sitting room to the sound of Princess Margaret playing  _ Memory _ from  _ Cats _ on the piano, which Charles clearly doesn’t recognize though he quickly gleans from his siblings’ reactions the general gist of the joke, and when her husband briefly meets her eye once more and she sees all the same embarrassment she feels there and perhaps just a hint of something else as well - she lets herself have that illusion, too, just for the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the title is a lyric from _Cats_. We keep it classy in the Charles/Diana Third Baby AU.
> 
> Merry Christmas to all, and especially to Izzy, a great friend and great writer.


End file.
